


I Won't Let You Go

by LetThereBeDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - High School, Boyfriends, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 11:16:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18755365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetThereBeDestiel/pseuds/LetThereBeDestiel
Summary: Castiel and Dean are dating, and plan on going to the winter dance together. But things change when Castiel accidentally discovers that their history teacher is actually an alien, who finds Dean a perfect fit to be a bride for the King. Now, Castiel has to figure out a way to stop an alien invasion, and to save Dean.





	I Won't Let You Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoralQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoralQueen/gifts).



> Based on a prompt submitted by CoralQueen.
> 
> To translate the Morse code messages, here's a [translator](https://morsecode.scphillips.com/translator.html). (It's not necessary for the plot, if you're too lazy.)

“So I’m sitting there.”

Something didn’t add up for Castiel.

“I’m sitting there in front of an asymptote, trying to figure out what the hell it wants from my life, and all I can think about is John Mulaney talking about his dog. You remember that part, babe? With the space aliens?”

“Mhm.”

He did the geometry part wrong. Positively, he did it wrong. That’ll take at least fifteen points off his grade. Hell.

Dean’s arm lifted slightly and slumped down around his shoulders in a shrug. “He’s not listening. That’s his not-listening _mhm_.”

“Can’t blame a guy for blocking Dean Winchester out,” said Meg, resting her feet up on the bench next to hers. “He’s already wired to nod along whenever you start rambling about something stupid. Look,” she gestured her burger at Castiel before taking a bite. “Y’could pro’ly tell’im his pants’re on fire an’ he wouldn’t know it.”

“Ew.” Anna tapped her cigarette in an ashtray. “Eat with your mouth closed, pig.”

“Space aliens,” mumbled Castiel. “I’m listening.”

Dean nudged his shoulder. “What’s with you?”

“I think I did the geometry part wrong.”

A mutual groan arose from the group.

“Cas, you’ve got the highest GPA in class.”

“Probably,” muttered Anna, smoke swirling out of her mouth. The sun reflected in her sunglasses. Lunch break was almost over. “I don’t know how you can date someone so stuck up. God forbid he fails one test in his life; his parents would probably disown him.”

“Hey,” said Dean.

“Takes one to know one,” Meg grumbled.

“Are you implying I’m stuck up?”

“I’m not implying it. I’m straight up saying it, you moron.”

“I’m sure you did well,” Dean smiled at him, speaking quietly over the squabble that ensued. His arm disappeared from Castiel’s shoulder, and he reached for his water bottle. “Thank God for the winter dance,” he said, taking a swig. Castiel eyed him.

“Changed your mind?”

“Nope. Still think it’s stupid.”

“Good. Because I’m not about to slow dance in front of Mr. Satan.”

“But it gives us a day off, so,” Dean shrugged.

“We’ll be there.”

“Drinking vodka punch.”

“Judging people silently.”

“You’re gross,” said Meg. The bell for seventh period rang, and they got up clumsily. “Talk about creepy teachers.”

“Ugh, I so don’t have the energy for Mr. Man right now.”

Mr. Man wasn’t exactly creepy. There was just something off about him; something out of place. Maybe it was that everything was so in place: on the bridge of his long nose sat a pair of big, square glasses, and underneath it he grew a thick moustache. He wore a buttoned shirt, a tie and brown trousers every day, and carried a briefcase Castiel had never seen him open. He was the over-smiling, over-sharing type of guy, and his name was Robert Man. The most ordinary person Castiel has ever seen.

Robert Man taught history like he went to History Teacher College, memorized every book and then recited it in front of the class.

“Good morning,” he opened, right as Dean and Castiel slipped into their seats. “The Byzantine empire gets its name from Byzantium, the old name of Constantinople…” That was how his classes started. And how they continued, until 2:04, when he would declare “dismissed!” right before the bell for eighth period rang. And then he would take his briefcase and go.

In three years of history classes, today was the first day something remotely remarkable happened to, because, or in the presence of Mr. Man.

“Hey.” Dean turned around in his chair. Castiel kept writing in his notebook, ignoring him.

“You’re gonna wanna see this,” whispered Dean, and started tapping his arm incessantly.

“I’m gonna wanna remember that the Byzantine Empire’s population in 457 AD was sixteen million.”

“Mr. Man’s briefcase is glowing.”

That caught Castiel’s attention. “What?” He looked up. The briefcase, tucked under the teacher’s table, was glistening intermittently with blue light.

“Does he know it’s doing that?” Asked someone beside them, and they watched as their teacher tried to unsuccessfully shove the bag behind himself using his foot, all the while not faltering in his speech about Basil II the Bulgar Slayer.

“It’s a pattern,” said Castiel, staring at the case. “It’s a repeating pattern.”

“Morse code,” said Dean. He grabbed his pen. “Spell it out for me.”

Castiel repeated the pattern:

.-. . .--. --- .-. - / - --- / -... .- ... .

“Any idea what that means?” Asked Dean, looking at the paper.

“None.”

The gleaming stopped then. Mr. Man carried on with his class until the bell rang, and then disappeared faster than anyone could form a comment on what happened.

Castiel had a strange feeling, like this would be the last time they’d see him. Dean lifted an eyebrow at him, and squeezed his hand when he didn’t shrug back.

“I’m sure he left ten IPhones in there and they all rang at the same time,” he said, and Castiel shook his head.

 

It wasn’t the last time they saw Mr. Man. Not even second-last. He kept coming to classes as if nothing had happened – because nothing had, Dean insisted. He was right; finals were approaching in an alarming speed, and with them the end to the benefit of seeing Dean every day. Glowing briefcases were the least of his worries right now.

“Movie night?” Asked Dean one morning in the hallway, shoving notebooks, gym shirts and old candy wrappers into his locker without distinction.

“Yeah.”

“I was thinking Men in Black. It’s a classic.”

“Haven’t seen it,” said Castiel, chewing on an apple distractedly. Students and teachers roamed the hallways on their way to first period, and Castiel stared at them without really seeing anything.

“Of course you haven’t,” he heard Dean say. From the corner of his eye he saw Robert Man hurry through the crowded hallway – tie, moustache and briefcase in place – his eyes moving frantically behind his glasses, almost shoving kids on his way to the science lab.

Unprecedented.

“I’ll meet you in math,” Castiel mumbled, shoving his half-eaten apple at Dean without looking at him and hurrying down the hall.

The science lab was empty, except for Robert Man. He stood at the back of the room – a spot Castiel could see through a slit in the door – and watched his briefcase.

His briefcase, which was open, and shimmering with flashes of light.

What Castiel wouldn’t give to be hiding in the right angle to see what was inside it.

Still, he was able to see the flashes of the light it emitted. He dug in his backpack for a pen, rolled his sleeve up and copied the pattern onto his forearm:

.-. . .--. --- .-. - / - --- / -... .- ... .

The teacher sent his hand into the briefcase, typing a pattern of his own:

. ...- . .-. -.-- - .... .. -. --. / .. ... / .- -.-. -.-. --- .-. -.. .. -. --. / - --- / .--. .-.. .- -.

The briefcase:

-.-- --- ..- .-. / ... - .- - . -- . -. - / -.-. --- -. - .-. .- -.. .. -.-. - ... / --- ..- .-. / .. -. - . .-..

Robert:

... . -. -.. / .. -. / - .... . / .-.. .. -... .-. .- .-. .. .- -.

He shut the case closed and stared at a spot in the air. Then, a blue dot appeared in the middle of the room, sizzling into a wide, flat circle of light. Out of the circle stepped the old lady from the school library; once she was out, the circle fizzled into thin air. The whole process took less than five seconds.

“Flerg,” she greeted the teacher, and straightened her dress. “Mind if I take these shoes off? They’re awfully tight.” And she slipped out of her low heels to reveal a pair of monstrous, jiggly feet, the color of Mars, or of the red desert.

Dinosaurs. No, space monsters. Aliens.

_Aliens._

“I mind it very much,” answered the teacher. “Your feet carry the stench of varp covered in pheebo sweat.”

“So does your seventh armpit,” said the librarian. She took a seat and put her feet up on a table.

“Yet, you don’t see me take off my underwear in order to air it,” said Mr. Man.

“You’ve adjusted to the human ways. Soon, you will ask us to call you Norbert.”

“It’s Robert,” he fumed. “I have not adjusted. I’m simply trying to maintain my cover. I’ve found a perfect bride for the King.” He took a paper out of his pocket and slid it across the table. “Well, perfect, with a reservation or two.”

The librarian examined the page – a photo? “It looks quite adequately perfect. What are the reservations?”

“Well – it’s a male.”

“A male? But it isn’t blue!”

“None of them are blue, you pheebo,” muttered Robert. The librarian lifted the picture again to have a better look, and Castiel saw it.

It was Dean.

“What else?” She asked. Castiel felt as though his lungs were being crushed.

“It’s a tad bit older than the King.”

“How much older?”

“336 years.”

The librarian stood up at that. “A male, not even blue, and now this?”

“A pretty one,” the teacher reconciled. “Fit to rule a kingdom of yeets. The age difference is not considerable.”

The librarian puckered her lips. “How much is 336 years in human time?”

“Two weeks.”

“Is that… A lot?”

“A fraction of a florb,” he assured her.

“It does seem like an adequate human…” She mused. “How is the King’s plan coming along?”

“I found a night fitting for the invasion.” Mr. Man took another paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, handing it to the librarian.

It was the flyer for the winter dance.

“A party,” said the librarian. “Where will you put the hypnotizer?”

“In the punch.”

“I don’t know what that is. Do you carry a go-to-sleep-er? The hypnotizer stutters occasionally.”

“I hate using the go-to-sleep-er. It takes over a zlorp to load.”

“Load it beforehand. Report to base with any new development. Guard the human. And anyone who gets too close to it.” The librarian pressed a button on her 2002 Nokia and disappeared into the portal it created. Castiel backed away and hurried down the hall, before the teacher could notice he was ever there.

 

He had to tell Dean.

“Popcorn: check. Hot chocolate to dip the popcorn in because we’re gross: check.” Dean set down two mugs on the coffee table and settled on the couch, his smile teasing. “Boyfriend who’s not listening to me? Check.”

Dean would know what to do. He would come up with a plan and save the day.

Dean took his hand. “Cas, you’ve been staring at air like you’ve seen a ghost all day. Do I need to start worrying you had a stroke?”

Castiel looked at him. “I need to talk to you.”

“Okay,” Dean said carefully. “The words every guy wants to hear. Are we breaking up, or are we pregnant?”

“Do you ever think about… Aliens? The possibility of them?”

“I dunno. Maybe like, bacteria level and stuff. Hey,” he nudged Castiel’s arm, grinning. “D’you hate my joke?”

He was so easily distracted – all you had to do was give him a good pun or a burger, and you’ve got his attention.

“I love it,” said Castiel, but instead of coming off cynical, he just sounded sad.

Dean would save the day, and everyone would be safe.  
He would do whatever it takes.

He would end up doing something stupid – or worse – something selfless, and then Castiel would lose him. Mary, John and Sam would lose him.

“Whatcha wanna talk about?” Dean asked, squeezing his hand, and then squeezing it again when Castiel didn’t respond.

He couldn’t tell Dean.

“I think going to the winter dance is a bad idea,” he said.

He would have to come up with a plan himself, a plan to handle the jiggly fake-human aliens, and most importantly, keep Dean away from the dance. Because he couldn’t live with any other option; and because he had a feeling Dean was kind of a deal breaker for these creatures. Keeping him away, for the least, might buy Castiel more time.

“Okay. Uh… Why?”

Castiel stammered. “I… have a stage fright. Dancing makes me nervous.”

“We don’t have to dance,” said Dean. “We can stand on the side and drink punch and silently judge everyone’s haircuts.”

“It will be really crowded.”

“We’ll find a quiet spot.”

“I’d lose you in the crowd.”

“I’ll hold your hand the entire time,” Dean smiled. “I won’t let go, I promise. Bathroom breaks not included.”

Castiel huffed, struggling to mask his frustration. “You’re too sweet.”

“Shut up,” Dean elbowed his side. But he hadn’t meant it as a compliment. And fuck if he was going to lose this stubbornness contest to a guy who couldn’t say no to a pop tart.

 

He thought about telling everyone else. At least it wouldn’t give them a chance to defend themselves. But:

  1. It would also create chaos, and chaos makes it even easier to invade a group of confused teenagers.
  2. He didn’t know how far this reached, and who was a part of it. What if he came up to an alien and explained to it his elaborated plan on how to defeat its own species?
  3. No one, in a hundred years, would ever believe him.



So here was his plan.

Trust no one but Dean (because he had to trust someone).

Keep Dean away from the dance at all costs (because, for some reason, the aliens deemed him fit to be a bride).

Protect anyone in danger with his life (because he would be the only one able to once the aliens invaded).

He got part one covered. He was still working on part two.

“Paintball,” he said, and Dean looked up from his physics book. “Star Wars marathon. Racquetball.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dean’s room at eight p.m. in the middle of January was warm and dim and quiet, and he really didn’t want to start a fight. But the dance was next week, and he didn’t know what else to do at this point. He didn’t know what could possibly be done. He’d spent every free minute he had spying on Mr. Man, researching aliens or trying to make up something better than the flimsy idea he called a plan, and he was nowhere closer to a solution than he’d been the day he saw Mr. Man and the librarian in the science lab.

“Things we can do instead of going to the dance.”

Dean closed his book and turned to face him. “We can do all these things any other day,” he argued.

“Paintball is closed on Saturdays,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Is there no way I can convince you to stay home?” He asked, the exhaustion and desperation of the past weeks seeping into his voice.

Dean shrugged. “I guess I don’t wanna give that experience up.”

Castiel rubbed his face with his palms, an excuse to hide the torment in his expression.

He didn’t want to start a fight.

_…Start a fight._

He looked up, and Dean was opening his study book with resignation, like he was searching for a way to relieve the tension between them and coming up with nothing.

“Well, I guess…” He took a breath, and hoped to God this would work. “You’ll just have to go without me.”

Dean’s face hardened and he stared at Castiel, taken aback. “I’m not going without you.”

“I don’t want to go to a stupid school dance-” he forced himself to raise his voice- “and spend the night in an uncomfortable suit, hating every moment of it. If that’s something you want, then maybe we should reconsider our priorities.”

He didn’t know how he would set things right with Dean once this is over, what he could possibly say that would make sense in all this mess. But he could tell that, for now, he got what he wanted. A confused, hurt boyfriend, who didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

 

He had to be at the dance. He was Anna and her date’s ride; and it was for the best, since he _had to be at the dance_ , and the ride made an alright excuse to tell Dean. He could just say he went back home if… If any of them survived this night.

He had no idea what exactly a couple of aliens were planning on doing with a hall full of tipsy teenagers.

It was actually a half decent night. Fairy lights and bad music and teens dressed up like fancy adults with tennis shoes – in other circumstances, it could have been nice to hate every moment of this with Dean.

Castiel chose a spot by the punch bowl. He had to prevent as many people as he could from drinking it.

“Don’t drink from the punch!” He warned a group of girls that approached the drinks table. They looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Why?” Asked one of them, April.

‘“It, uh…” Castiel scratched his head. “It has alcohol.”

“Nice,” she said, and they poured themselves cups. “Thanks for the heads up, mom.”

Well, shit.

His next strategy worked a little better: tell everyone who got close that the punch didn’t even have alcohol. He located Mr. Man and the librarian in the crowd and kept an eye on them, along with all the other teachers. He couldn’t watch every single person in the hall for suspicious activity, but if anyone else was going to be an alien, he betted on the teachers. Two out of two were adults so far. And the aliens are always the adults in movies.

Almost an hour and a half in, and everything was going alright. At least thirty percent of students stayed away from the punch, and the ones that didn’t seemed alright, anyway. Mr. Man was visibly nervous, probably freaking out over Dean being nowhere in sight, but he didn’t seem to be doing anything about it for the moment. Castiel almost felt confident – he almost felt silly. Like he’d been making all of this up. Alien invasion… That was crazy. _Crazy._ And the thought that he was going crazy, rather than an actual alien invasion happening, was overwhelmingly relieving. And then he heard a voice behind him say,

“Hey.”

He turned around.

“Dean?”

He stood there, on the other side of the drink table, smiling crookedly. “Hey, Cas.”

“What are you doing here?”

Dean hesitated, and sighed, and walked around the table to touch his hand. “All this fighting… It’s silly, Cas. Wherever you wanna be – I’m right there with ya. Yeah, I wanted to go to this stupid dance with you and have an amazingly awful time, but without you, it’s just awful.”

No. No, no, no…

“Hey.” Dean tugged on his hand, and smiled the way he did when he knew he was being sweet. Castiel didn’t usually ignore that smile so blatantly. “I just wanna be with you.”

New plan. He needed a new plan, now.

“Dean, we have to get out of here.”

His hand tightened around Dean’s; no matter what happens, he cannot let Dean go. Bathroom breaks included. By the exit, Mr. Man looked at them, finally seeming to calm down.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said. “We can go home.”

He pulled Dean towards the exit – but Mr. Man shifted to subtly block their way.

“Having fun?” He asked, lifting a punch cup Castiel could tell he hadn’t taken a single sip out of, and pulling up a friendly smile.

“Yeah,” Dean said distractedly. “Hey, Cas, what’s going on?”

Castiel was grabbing Dean’s arm with both his hands, and breathing heavily. He forced himself to loosen his grip, and pulled Dean in a different direction.

“Is there another exit?” He asked, looking around him frantically.

“Yeah,” Dean said, confused, and gestured at a back door. “Is that the librarian? I didn’t imagine an old lady would volunteer to spend the night making sure a bunch of poorly-dressed kids were drinking responsibly. Check that out,” he snorted. “She’s handing out punch cups by the back door.”

No, no, no…

He looked at Castiel, and his smile vanished. “Let’s just go home, yeah?”

But it was too late. The aliens shut the doors and were making their way to the front of the room, where Robert took a microphone and called everyone to sit down.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said into the microphone. Castiel looked around him. The students didn’t look hypnotized – but what did he know about hypnosis? People talked, and laughed, and held hands. Dean leaned on his shoulder. But then Mr. Man said, “Quiet, please,” and silence fell in the room.

Maybe they were just well-behaved?

It occurred to Castiel, really hit him now for the first time, that this might not have a happy ending. That he might not see the end of this night. That he didn’t know any of the aliens’ plans, not really, and these might be his very last minutes to say something, to do something that wasn’t related to weird, jiggly space people. He took Dean’s hand, and with a lump in his throat, said the last words he possibly wanted to say.

“Thank you for coming tonight.”

“Sorry I upset you.” Dean’s thumb moved in circled over his knuckles. Fucking hell, he should have hugged his parents more.

At the front of the room, their teacher was preparing cups of punch, with the help of the librarian and a couple others – Naomi, the vice president, and Metatron, a self-assured junior.

“We will now hand out refreshments ,” said Robert, “In case anyone hasn’t managed to refresh yet.”

So there were others.

And there was not much Castiel could do. He didn’t know why he ever thought a single teenager with half a plan could take on an organized group of intergalactic creatures. He watched as the students were each handed a cup, and made to drink it. He watched as his turn came up. He watched as Dean drank his cup. And then he was looking at his own cup of pink liquid, clutching it between his fingers.

“I already had some,” he said, looking up at Mr. Man with clenched teeth.

“Have it anyway,” said Mr. Man, and watched him.

He looked at Dean for the last time, and took a deep breath. “I’m not thirsty.”

Dean looked up then, and said, “He doesn’t want to drink.”

A spark lit in his chest – hope, almost. But Mr. Man insisted, “Drink it anyway,” and Dean shrugged at him. Slowly, with the teacher looking closely at him, he raised the cup and took a big sip. Mr. Man moved on. When he was five or six students away, Castiel lowered his head and, as inconspicuously as he could, spit the drink back into his cup.

_Please, God, don’t let anyone notice. Please, please, please._

No one did.

Dean kept leaning on him. The students didn’t talk anymore, but they looked around and coughed and played with their shoelaces. Whatever this hypnotizer thing was… It didn’t turn them into zombies. He was a little ashamed of having expected that, now. He blamed Dean’s pop culture sci-fi movies.

But he spoke too soon. Mr. Man took the microphone again and coughed lightly into it.

“We will now introduce our King!” His voice carried across the room. From the door erupted a line of big men in suits – bodyguards. Hypnotized humans or aliens? – two carrying a chair, on which sat a small creature, the size of a leg and the color of the librarian’s toes. They rested the chair in front of the bewildered students.

“King Goop of the kingdom of Yeet!” Declared Mr. Man. “Cheer, humans!”

They did.

Mr. Man approached Castiel and Dean.

“Come with me, young one,” he said, and reached a hand to Dean. Dean glanced at Castiel, and went with him. Mr. Man led him to the king.

“I will now introduce the bride to our king. All hail Dean, son of Earth!”

This was absurd. Surely, it was impossible, and he was just dreaming, or hallucinating, or going out of his right mind. Surely, the alien-ish crown being put on Dean’s head wasn’t real, his blank expression wasn’t real, the students standing up around Castiel weren’t real.

But they were, and Castiel pulled himself together and stood up with them, because he mustn’t do anything out of the ordinary if he wanted to keep the freedom of his mind.

The aliens put them in a line and had them carry big, egg-shaped silver containers. They were light and something splooshed inside when they moved. Castiel didn’t want to know what it was. He carried egg after egg in the line of students, and watched as the aliens changed Dean into what seemed like a huge pillowcase, worn as a dress, and a crown made of rosemary leaves. He kind of looked beautiful in the Greek god kind of way, but that was beside the point.

He didn’t know what to do. More and more aliens seeped into the room. The humans around him didn’t seem to remember anything, and Castiel was at a complete loss. He’d thought by now he’d save the day, or die. He never thought splooshy eggs would be involved.

On a table by Dean and the King, guarded by Mr. Man and the librarian, was a small object that resembled a gun. It must be the go-to-sleep-er. Castiel recalled what Robert had said back in the science lab – about it taking long to recharge. And he realized something: if the go-to-sleep-er was out of the equation, all the aliens had on him was quantity.

And that was incredible. Those were odds he would grab Dean and run out the door with right now.

Slowly, as he was loading alien eggs into the room, he went over every clue he’d stumbled upon since he discovered his history teacher’s secret.

The librarian had said that the hypnotizer stutters sometimes.

He knew the go-to-sleep-er took over a zlorp to load – he didn’t know how long a zlorp was, but if Mr. Man had to charge it in advance, that must mean he would only be able to use it once in battle.

He didn’t know, but he had a theory that the hypnotizer worked for anyone giving orders, rather than just the aliens. He remembered looking at Dean before he drank his punch, saying he didn’t want to drink it, and then Dean defending him. After he drank his own cup.

Could be just his usual protectiveness.

Or it could be the punch already kicking in, and making Dean abide his wishes when he said he wasn’t thirsty.

It really was a hit or miss. But if there was a chance, the smallest chance… Shouldn’t he take it?

He knew Dean got distracted easily. Yes, he was putting the lure of cheeseburgers against alien technology, but didn’t Tony Stark pull that off? (Or, at least, he thought that was what those movies were about. He didn’t really listen when Dean talked about them. God, he swore, if he and Dean were to get out of this, he had to start listening to his boyfriend talk about men in full bodysuits more often.)

He looked around him. Dean was too far away; he’d have to create a distraction.

He turned to the person behind him – Becky from chemistry. It was time to put his theory to test.

“Becky,” he whispered to her when the aliens weren’t looking. “Take your egg and run.”

“Where?” She asked. Castiel looked at the back door. Someone was guarding it, but they didn’t seem to be armed.

“Out,” he said. Becky stared at him.

_Please work for me, alien drugs. Please._

She moved. Hesitantly, at first, but gaining confidence. Castiel waited for the aliens to shoot her or zap her or put her to sleep – but they didn’t. They just stared as she approached the one guarding the back door. Castiel had suspected this; the aliens were not so careless with their one shot of… sleep.

He had to just gun it, then.

So, while Becky was still roaming about, all alien eyes on her, he started running. As fast as he could. He got to Dean and he felt it: that was it. This was the moment that would determine whether all his efforts were ever worth anything. 

He took Dean’s hand, and between heavy breaths, he said as urgently as he possibly could: “Come with me.”

And it all depended on whether Dean would let go.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Mr. Man run for the gun. He was a second too late: Castiel pulled Dean’s hand, and Dean followed him. They ran to the drinks table, and Castiel straight up flipped it over to become a shield they could duck behind.

“Dean,” he said, taking Dean’s face with both hands. “I need you to wake up. We don’t have much time. Wake up.”

Dean stared at him blankly. “Wake up?”

Around them, all hell broke loose. Castiel couldn’t see what was happening beyond the table, but they couldn’t possibly have more than a minute. He needed to get Dean back, get his mind back quick. Snap him out of it… Make him remember.

“A couple of months ago,” said Castiel. “The day you called me in the middle of class because your parents were angry with you for not wanting to go to any of the colleges you got a scholarship for. Do you remember?” He asked. “They said you were wasting your chance, going to a local engineering school while you could enroll into an Ivy League university just because you wanted to stay close to your brother and me.”

Dean kept looking at him blankly, shaking his head slightly.

A recent memory. Maybe he needed a recent one.

“Last week?” Castiel asked desperately. “I forgot who Han Solo is. You’ve got to remember that.”

His hands still on Dean’s face, he felt Dean’s fingers wrapped loosely around his forearms – as if Dean wanted to answer the despair in his eyes, wanted to remember; it didn’t change the vacancy in his expression.

Castiel closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Dean’s, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

He would try one more time. A memory they knew like the backs of his hands, something so familiar it would ring a bell to Castiel even in his sleep. Even in an alien-induced hypnotic episode.

“Two years ago,” he said. “It was dark and storming outside. Your room was only lit with a… desk lamp, that old green one that broke when your brother threw you a bag of Doritos.” His eyes were still closed, Dean’s hands clutching his arms, their foreheads touching. “It was just cold enough inside the house that we had to sit on the rug with a blanket on our knees. Your Winnie the Pooh blanket. Our toes peeked out from the other end of it, and your foot accidentally bumped into mine, and then it not-so-accidentally bumped into mine. And you- you breathed out this half laugh in the dark and moved your hand and I think you wanted to hold mine but didn’t have the courage – I don’t know why, God, why I never asked you about it. I always thought we’d have more time.” He had to swallow the lump in his throat again. He was struggling to keep his voice steady. “And- I don’t know what came over me when I kissed you. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. It felt like there was a magnet between us and the pull was just too hard to resist.”

“You looked so surprised when I kissed you back.”

Castiel’s eyes flew open. Dean was looking at him, his eyebrows furrowed, like he was trying to shake off a dream. “Did not.”

“Did so,” said Dean, and now the very ends of his lips curved up against his will.

“I did _not_ ,” insisted Castiel, “But we’re in a hurry, so you need to listen. There was an invasion, and the aliens-”

“I know,” said Dean. “I remember. Most of it.” He looked down at the pillowcase that covered his clothes, and ripped it off.

“Oh.”

Castiel looked around them, and realized the room was in total chaos. No wonder the aliens hadn’t caught up to them by now – students were running in every direction, grabbing random objects or trying to grab Dean. They were still hypnotized, Castiel realized, and the aliens just weren’t that good at giving orders. Whenever someone tried to grab Dean, he just told them to back off. And they did.

“So what do we do?” Asked Dean. Castiel pursed his lips. He only had one idea in mind, and it involved multiple things he was uncomfortable with.

The primary one was throwing Dean into the water with nothing to go on.

“You fight. I’ll create a distraction,” he said. “There’s just one thing you have to remember: they can only use the go-to-sleep-er once.”

They each tore a leg off their table-shield, and he gave his to Dean. And then Dean stood up, and stepped into the mayhem. Castiel was right behind him.

He saw Dean walk towards their teacher with a rosemary leaf crown, a pair of black jeans and a metal rod in each hand. It must have been the most impressive thing he’d seen in his fucking life. And then he saw Robert aim his gun, and pushed Dean aside forcefully. And then he saw nothing.

 

He woke up to a thin blanket, a sagging pillow, and darkness.

It took him a good while to comprehend where he was, because it wasn’t the same place he had lost consciousness in. The couch coating was corduroy, and there were family photos on the walls. He could barely make out the frames in the dark.

He was in Dean’s living room. Someone had covered him with a blanket – the same person, presumably, who was snoring lightly on the other couch.

Castiel sat up, taking a moment to process the headache that hit him like someone pushed him head-first into a pool, and looked around for a clock. It was just past five in the morning.

He sent a hand and shook Dean’s foot gently. Dean swayed in his sleep, and then sat up slowly.

“Cas?” His voice was low, rougher than Castiel had ever heard it, but his mind was spiraling too quickly for him to be able to appreciate it. Dean stood up heavily, wobbling a little, and glanced at the wall clock before landing on Castiel’s couch. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a quarterback,” said Castiel. Every inch of his body hurt. “Or the Hulk. What happened?”

“Did you just…“ Dean rubbed his eyes, and yawned. “Make a pop culture reference?”

“Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. He squinted at Castiel in the dark and – cautiously – rested a hand on his knee. “My mom insisted that you slept on the sofa instead of in my room, so I was protesting.” He yawned again.

“I meant at school.”

“Oh. Well, after you heroically sacrificed yourself to protect me-”

“The school.”

“To protect the school,” Dean corrected. “I fought off the aliens and tried to un-hypnotize as many people as I could. That was mostly an epic failure. But a couple of people did snap out of it, and these aliens kinda suck at invading hostile species, so it was actually pretty decent after that.”

“Decent?” Castiel asked, his forehead creasing when Dean grinningly lifted an arm wrapped up in a bandage. “No harm done, though. Everyone made it out alright. Save you, of course.”

“Me?”

“You’ve been asleep for three days.”

“I _what_?”

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed with worry. “The hospital wouldn’t let you stay because nothing was technically wrong with you, but I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t wanna leave you – I didn’t…” He shrugged, at a loss. “I didn’t know what to think.”

Right.

Castiel rubbed his eyes. And then he dropped his hands and leaned on Dean’s shoulder. He wanted to tell him that it was okay. That he was okay. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to tell him how scared he’d been. But his way around feelings was clumsy and awkward, and Dean always knew the right thing to say, and he never did.

“You’re okay,” Dean breathed, almost a whisper. He wrapped an arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “You’re okay, Cas, right?”

Castiel searched in the dark for Dean’s hand, and took it, and kissed it. And held onto it for good measure. “I am, now.”

They sat on the couch, holding hands in silence for a long time, because neither of them was willing to let go.

“There’s just one thing,” said Dean, and Castiel raised his head to look at him. “The aliens - they got away.”


End file.
